


Lessons in Magic and Space

by TeamHPForever



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever/pseuds/TeamHPForever
Summary: Essik invites Caleb for another lesson in Dunamancy. Caleb offers to trade a kiss for more.





	Lessons in Magic and Space

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in so deep for these two since the moment they met that it's kind of a problem.

“Caleb!” Jester’s boisterous voice echoes through the previously-silent shelves of the library. She bounces around the corner, brandishing a curl of parchment in one hand. “Ah, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Caleb quickly marks his page and sets the book— _The Care and Cleaning of Your Apex Predator_ —aside. Anxiety brims in his gut, threatening the peace he’d achieved over the past few hours absorbed in his reading. “What is it?”

Jester comes to a halt, rocking on the balls of her feet. She drops the parchment in front of him. “A letter for you. From _Essik_.”

“Thank you.” Caleb pins it down without another word, anticipation running through him at the sight of the Shadowhand’s flowing attempt at Common. _I am free this afternoon, if you would wish another lesson._

“The two of you are spending a lot of time together,” Jester says, more sedate this time.

“He’s teaching me.” Caleb reaches for parchment and quill. He’ll need more paper soon, if this keeps up. A lot more.

“Is he teaching anyone else?”

Caleb shrugs, now scrawling off a quick affirmative reply. “I don’t know. It’s not like we talk about what he does with his time.”

“I think he likes you.” Jester snatches up his response the moment he finishes. “I could send him a message for you, you know. It would be faster.”

“I know.” Caleb offers her a smile, small and tight, but on him it might as well be glowing. “For this, I think I’d rather do it the non-magical way.”

“Okay.” Jester drags the word out to impossible lengths. “I’ll make sure he gets this.”

Caleb nods and she skips away. He tries to return his attention to his books but his mind refuses to be drawn away from his impending meeting with Essik—what he might learn, if Essik might stay for dinner. His thoughts linger on the Shadowhand’s dark cloak, the fine blue of his skin, the sleek curve of his lips. How it might feel to have that slightest of smiles pressed against his own.

Caleb shakes his head. That train of thought, so rare these days, is too dangerous to entertain. They’re here in Rosohna with plans in mind, or _something_ in mind, and he knows without a doubt that Essik has plans of his own. Only time would tell if those plans are in cooperation or in conflict.

Hours later, Caleb finds himself standing at the front door, opening it to Essik. The drow isn’t smiling but there is a glint in his eyes that Caleb might call warm.

“Come in,” Caleb says, before he can speak.

Essik sweeps through the doorway, setting off the soft echo of wind chimes. Caleb tamps down a wince at the sound, bracing himself for the pounding of his fellow Mighty Nein’s footsteps.

There are none. He’s been granted this moment alone with Essik. He decides not to waste time counting his lucky stars.

“I hope you came prepared,” Essik says, his voice rich and smooth. He smiles now, the slightest upturn in the corners of his mouth, like he might be laughing at Caleb.

“Jester swears that I’m about to buy all the parchment in Rosohna if I’m not careful.” Caleb falls into step beside Essik, the journey to the library a familiar one for the both of them now. “I may have already bought all the ink. Soon we may have to get creative.”

Essik’s chuckle is low. “I’m sure that if that were true, I could provide you with a hidden supply.”

“Are you suggesting that Den Theylas has a vault full of parchment and ink?” Caleb shoulders his way into the library, letting the door snap shut behind them. He’s relieved by the silence that greets his ears. He wouldn’t put it past Jester or Nott or both of them to lay in wait here.

Essik winks at him. “Now, you don’t expect me to give away all of our secrets, do you?”

“Not right away at least.” Caleb gestures to their usual table, a small one tucked away in a corner. It’s private, even more so than the rest of the library. He snaps his fingers and an oil lamp bursts into light.

Essik blinks at the sudden brightness, settling into his chair. His fingers dart easily through the air, dancing over the arcane symbols that summon his spell book. Caleb has seen him do so half a dozen times and he can still only guess at the configuration. The book appears, landing in Essik’s hands.

Caleb sits with less grace, reaching for his stack of parchment. Eagerness thrums through his veins, eagerness to see, to learn, to _know_. The list of things he wouldn’t give to read the entire book is not a long one, stopping beyond the Mighty Nein.

Essik opens the book to a page about a third of the way in, frowns, brushes a couple pages aside, and hands it over. “No choices this time?” Caleb asks, already beginning to copy down the symbols.

“I think you’ll be satisfied with my thoughts on what you would like to know.” Essik’s voice is almost a low purr but Caleb is too absorbed in copying down the spell to notice.

It takes nearly an hour for Caleb to transcribe the whole thing. He’s slow and meticulous, not wanting to miss even a single letter or stroke. He may never have a chance like this again. Essik doesn’t comment or complain or even sigh. He sits still as a statue on the other side of the table, his gaze patient and unwavering.

When he’s finished, Essik takes back the book. Caleb waits with bated breath for him to tuck it back into whatever pocket dimension it calls home when not in use. Instead, the drow turns all at once to a page halfway through and returns it to him.

“How did I get so lucky?” Caleb asks mostly to himself as he draws a fresh stack of parchment.

“You earned it,” Essik says, equally quiet.

Caleb bends over the page, copying the spell down. The hair stands up on the back of his neck, fingers tingling with the desire to give it a try. He can’t, though, not yet at least. He has to study it first. Imprint the knowledge into his book, his mind, acquire the necessary materials.

This one is shorter but no less powerful. Caleb slows as he nears the end, allowing his mind the luxury of wandering. He wonders, if his mind hadn’t shattered, if he would be getting a first-hand look at Essik’s powers under very different circumstances. One moment of his life and he’d ended up at the same table as the Kryn Shadowhand, rather than opposite ends of the battlefield.

“You’re not concentrating,” Essik says, more observation than admonishment.

“I was thinking.” Caleb copies down another line of instructions. “About how easily our lives could’ve been different.”

“How so?” Essik’s head tilts, considering him. The blue in his eyes seems to flow like liquid sapphire.

“I’m of the Empire.” Caleb doesn’t explain. Essik doesn’t ask him to. Caleb’s sleeves push up to his elbows as he finishes off the rest of the spell, leaving the spiderweb of scars visible. Essik doesn’t comment on this either, although Caleb can feel his eyes lingering on them for the barest of moments.

Caleb doesn’t resist as Essik closes the book. He rests his hand on the cover, two hundred years of research and practice beneath his palm. It’s more knowledge than he can hope to obtain in his human lifespan, no farther from his grasp than the span of the simple leather bindings.

“All in good time,” Essik says with a knowing smile as the book fades away into a mist of blue and silver.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at him. “What would I have to do to earn another?”

Essik’s eyes flicker down unmistakably to his lips. The tips of his ears turn almost silver. “Continue to carry the Bright Queen’s trust,” he says at last.

“Of course.” Caleb stands, the rich purple material of his new coat settling around him. Something _bold_ thuds just beneath his ribs. “I was thinking of something a little more—immediate.”

“I will not be calling in your favor tonight.” There’s something guarded in Essik’s eyes but not unwelcoming. His voice is almost amused.

Caleb hums, low in his throat. His hand cups Essik’s chin, gently drawing his face up. The drow’s skin is cool by human standards but still warmer than Caleb expected. “Not a favor,” Caleb says. “A kiss.”

“You are welcome to try,” Essik says and Caleb does.

The Shadowhand is nearly even in height with him seated and it’s the work of a breath to close the distance between them. His lips are soft and full, and the first press of them sends heat coursing through Caleb all the way to his toes.

Essik travels without touching the ground, floats through time and space like a ghost. If Caleb ever once thought he might kiss the same way, he’s very quickly proven wrong. Essik’s kiss is all-consuming, a dance to music that only the two of them can hear.

Caleb parts his lips, a clear invitation. His questions about whether drow kiss as humans do are answered when Essik’s tongue slides into his mouth. He explores with the confident assurance that he shows in what little research Caleb has been allowed to be privy to.

Essik’s hands rise, stroking gently from Caleb’s cheeks, to his shoulders, to his sides. Essik handles him like something precious, not breakable, but treasured just the same. It’s not something Caleb remembers from his fumblings with Astrid, or the clinical efficiency of the asylum, or his few-and-far-between experiences in the years since.

Caleb doesn’t want to think about what that care might mean. He pushes closer, wanting to feel as much as possible. He groans, lamenting the fabric of the Shadowhand’s ever-present robes. They’re distressingly thick, leaving very little of his body available to Caleb’s roving hands.

Essik chuckles, taking Caleb’s hands and clasping their fingers together. His hands are soft, fingers long and thin. “Patience,” he says against Caleb’s lips. “Dunamancy is not the only thing worth waiting for.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been good at waiting.” Caleb leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Essik’s mouth. “I prefer to study.”

“You do seem to be a quick learner.” Essik releases him, raising both hands. Power sparks off the tips of his fingers. “I think you’ve earned a practical demonstration.”

Caleb steps back, watching as Essik draws a complicated sigil in the air, not unlike those of a transportation circle. Essik reaches into a pouch at his waist, tosses a handful of silver dust. It snaps, burning away like a firecracker, leaving behind a waver in the air. It reminds Caleb of the rifts to hell, a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

Essik steps toward it, pausing when Caleb doesn’t follow. “Time isn’t the only principle that can be manipulated,” he says, offering his hand. “Come on.”

Caleb takes a deep breath and accepts the drow’s hand. Together, they step forward, and into the home of the Shadowhand.

Caleb expects something extravagant—an entire wing of rooms, perhaps, or a stately home gilded in silver, or a wizard’s tower to rival Yussah’s.

Instead, he steps out into a simple foyer. The walls are stone, decorated only with two paintings. It’s too dark to make out their details. Essik steps away from the front door and deeper into the house. It’s small—a living room and kitchen, a single wooden door, and a black wrought-iron spiral staircase leading upward. There are a few furnishings here, the essentials only, and it’s so neat Caleb wonders that anyone lives here at all.

“I don’t spend much time here,” Essik says, like an apology. He’s standing in the middle of the room, not floating, and he almost looks small. He waves a hand at the single door. “That’s the library.”

“May I?” Caleb asks, already a pace towards it.

“Another time.” Essik turns away before Caleb’s face twitches in disappointment. “Would you like to eat? I’m afraid that I may have taken you away from dinner.”

Caleb shakes his head. He can’t think about food, not standing here in the Shadowhand’s living room. “What am I doing here?”

Essik steps toward him, confidence flowing from him again like a radiance of power. “I thought, _abbilsun_ , that I might take you to bed.”

“I—” Caleb swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “I—All right.”

Essik looks satisfied and makes his way to the spiral staircase. Caleb follows behind, feeling like he might be floating himself. This is a dream, it must be. There’s no way the Shadowhand could really be leading him to his bed. No, any moment now he’s going to wake up, face half-stuck to a piece of parchment or the page of a book.

The twisted metal railing feels real enough beneath the palm of his hand. Essik pauses at the top of the stairs just long enough to press his palm to the door. The black obsidian fades away, leaving a curved archway behind.

The drow’s bedroom is no more decorated than the rest of the house. There’s a canopy bed, drawn with silver gauze and solid black curtains. A massive wooden wardrobe, no doubt filled mostly with dark-colored robes. A circular mirror surrounded by a chipped silver frame.

“Nice place,” Caleb says, needing to fill the silence with _something_. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t speak, his heart might just explode out of his chest.

“It serves its purpose.” Essik turns around. “Do you require more light?”

Caleb blinks, waving his hand, and a trio of lights floats just below the ceiling. They’re dim, no brighter than moonlight, but at least he can see Essik among the dark. The drow’s skin almost seems to glow with a soft blue.

Essik steps around to him, tall and imposing, hands coming to rest on Caleb’s hips. Caleb lifts his chin just in time to meet him in another kiss. This one’s less reserved than the first, hotter and wetter, and Caleb’s toes curl in his boots as he tries to lift himself higher.

Essik’s thumbs slide beneath his collar, nudging the leather coat back off his shoulders until Caleb shrugs and it plops to the floor. His scarf, his vest, his shirt—each is removed, slowly. Caleb wonders if he would take the same care with the luxury of an elven lifespan and the promise of reincarnation.

Caleb’s hands blindly find their way to Essik’s shoulders, toying with the laces without success. Essik catches one hand, lifting it to his mouth. His tongue flicks out, over the pad of Caleb’s thumb. “Let me,” he says, pressing his body into Caleb and walking him backwards toward the bed.

Essik’s hands brace against Caleb’s chest. He traces the lines there—more bone than muscle—hands spanning the full width of his pecs. Essik’s touch finds his back, his ass, exploring all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His hands wrap around the muscles there, strong for his travels with the Nein, and lift.

Caleb bites back the groan that rises in the back of his throat as he’s set on the edge of the bed. He’d expected the Shadowhand to be strong but with the robes hiding any view of his muscles, he hadn’t known _how_ strong. Caleb spreads his legs, bracketing Essik’s hips with his thighs, his shoulders with his hands. Essik continues to explore his bare chest and back, not seeming to be in any hurry to proceed further. Caleb lets out a whine, cursing the tightness of his own pants.

At last, Essik drops to his knees. The blood rushes south so quickly Caleb’s head spins, but Essik turns his attention to his boots. With methodical precision, he loosens the laces and tugs them off, one by one. His socks are the next to go and then finally, _finally_ , Essik’s hands land on Caleb’s belt. He tugs it free from the buckle, unties the laces, tugs his pants down around his hips. Caleb braces himself back on his hands, lifting up to help. When he comes back down, it’s with bare skin against the Shadowhand’s silk sheets.

Essik’s eyes rove over him, open and hungry, as he straightens up again. “What do you like?” he asks, stroking one hand up the inside of Caleb’s thigh.

Caleb tilts his head, pushing himself farther up onto the bed. “I thought you liked research.”

“Good research needs a starting point.” Essik, still fully clothed, joins him on the bed, half-draping himself over Caleb. One hand finds the point of Caleb’s hip, so close and yet too far from his cock, standing hard between them.

“Touch me.” Caleb hisses as Essik’s hand wraps around the base of his cock. His touch is a tease, too light to do anything more than stoke the lust brewing in his gut. He strokes down, watching Caleb’s face as he does so, swipes his thumb over the head.

“Like this?” Essik says, and Caleb resists the urge to roll him over, to hold him down and take what he needs.

“Harder.” Caleb fists a hand in the Shadowhand’s robes, clinging to them. “I won’t break.”

Essik’s grip tightens, his strokes quickening. Caleb’s back arches and a moan rises from deep in his throat. Heat races up and down his spine and his toes curl around the edge of the bed. He presses his heels down, trying to thrust up, but there’s nothing there for him. Nothing but Essik’s hand, steady and unrelenting.

Caleb reaches up, tracing his way to Essik’s shoulder, his neck, to the back of his head. He fists a hand in Essik’s hair and drags him down into a kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy. It isn’t long before it’s more panting into each other’s mouths than actual kissing, especially when Essik’s hand speeds up, helped along by the slick of Caleb’s own precome.

Caleb doesn’t even realize he’s letting out a stream of obscenities in Zemnian until Essik pulls back, just a little, eyes opening and asks, “What does it mean?”

Caleb moans, his thighs trembling with the desire to come. “It means, whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“Then keep talking.”

Caleb’s mouth moves almost of its own accord, stumbling over the words of everything he wants Essik to do to him, everything he wants to do to Essik. When he runs out of ideas on that front, when the pleasure burning through him becomes too much, he mumbles nonsense, curses, pleas.

Essik’s free hand finds his nipples, brushing and circling around them until his pleas are reduced into wordless moans. “I want to see what you look like,” Essik says, his voice rougher than usual, less composed. The sound of it sends Caleb arching up into his grip. He snaps, biting down on his lower lip as he spills over the drow’s hand.

Essik strokes him through it, gently, until Caleb whines and wiggles away, oversensitive. He pants as he catches his breath, opening hooded eyes to watch Essik wipe his hand off on his sheets.

Caleb wants to say something, to make a joke about Essik being overdressed, to offer to return the favor, but he doesn’t. There’s something lurking in the Shadowhand’s eyes that causes him to hold his tongue, something longing but conflicted.

Essik stands, at last finding Caleb’s gaze with his own, but he doesn’t move or speak. Caleb begins to wonder if the drow will remain clothed, perhaps ask him to leave. He certainly doesn’t seem _eager_ to take his turn. “We don’t have to,” Caleb says.

“I know.” Essik raises a hand and snaps his fingers. All at once, the ties fastening the shoulders, chest, and waist of his robes slide free. The robes slip to the floor in a puddle of black fabric.

He’s thin, narrow chested with an even more narrow waist, but not bony. His body is firmly muscular, lithe like a runner—ironic considering he must spend more time floating than running. There’s a silver starburst of a scar on the right side of his chest, just below his collarbone, and a thick line just above his left hip. Black spirals of a tattoo curl over one shoulder, leading to his back.

Caleb doesn’t have much time to wonder over the rest of it before Essik is stepping out of his robes and descending upon him. Bare skin presses to bare skin, heated and electric. Caleb imagines he can see their power sparking in the air around them, scarlet and midnight-blue. Essik’s cock is hard between them, perfectly human-looking except for being flushed a deep blue-black.

“What do _you_ like?” Caleb asks as Essik presses kisses into the line of his throat.

“I like this,” Essik says, pad of his thumb against Caleb’s lower lip. “Your mouth.”

Caleb nods, sitting up until Essik leans away from him and he’s able to switch their positions. He settles himself between Essik’s legs, hands tracing up the muscles of his thighs, over the angle of his hips, to his chest. Caleb doesn’t intend on taking as much time to explore—he doesn’t have that kind of patience—but he’ll be damned if he ignores this chance while it’s laid out in front of him.

“You’re gorgeous,” Caleb says, fingertips brushing over the drow’s nipples. He shivers under the touch, thighs fluttering against the bed. Caleb files the information away for another time, he certainly hopes there’ll be another, and continues his explorations downward.

He’d almost expected the drow’s skin to be cold and hard, like marble, but it’s cool to the touch and soft as velvet. Caleb feels like he could stay here forever, just finding new places to touch and kiss.

Essik props himself up on his elbows, watching but not demanding. His lips part, breath huffing softly between them. Caleb pushes himself back to the edge of the bed, leans down, and takes his cock into his mouth.

Essik moans, the sound almost echoing in the silent room. Caleb licks at the head, rests his tongue against the slit. He’s rewarded with a burst of precome, tart as a new apple.

Caleb backs off for a moment, taking a deep breath, steeling himself. It’s been a while and Essik isn’t small by any means but it’s not like he’s forgotten the mechanics. Caleb leans forward and opens his mouth. Slowly, so slowly, he takes Essik’s cock all the way down, until his throat threatens to burn with it.

Closing his eyes, Caleb forces himself to relax and then— _there_ —Essik is letting out the most delicious moans above him. Caleb presses his tongue against the vein underneath as he pulls back again. He sucks lightly at the head, and repeats.

Essik’s hands grasp at the bedsheets. Caleb reaches up, trapping one and guiding it to his hair. It plays there, pushing through his locks, but not holding on. Caleb picks up a steady rhythm, a swipe of his tongue there, a hollow of his cheeks here.

It’s dizzying, having a man in his mouth, one that could more than likely reduce him to dust with a single spell. Essik moans and trembles and stumbles over phrases in Drow. Caleb wonders if next time he might have the foresight to cast a spell to comprehend languages.

“Please,” Essik says, finally something Caleb can understand. He wraps his hand around the base of Essik’s cock, speeding up. It’s wet and obscene and he feels a shiver of heat run down his spine at the thrill of it.

Caleb peeks up through his eyelashes, finding Essik still propped up to watch him. His lips are swollen, eyes half-hooded, normally perfect hair in disarray. Caleb moans, sending vibrations through his cock. If the Shadowhand was gorgeous before, he’s even more so like this. Caleb wants to see what he looks like when he’s been taken apart, when they’ve been kissing for hours, when he’s on top, when he’s beneath. He wants to see everything.

Caleb’s hand slips away. He pulls back, traces his tongue around the head, and then swallows him all the way down. Essik lets out a strangled shout, words in Drow that sound like a warning, and then he’s coming down the back of Caleb’s throat.

Essik’s entire body tenses with it, his eyes closing, his lips trembling. His hips jutter toward Caleb’s mouth, tiny movements, not enough to choke him. The flow of come seems to go on forever and then, all at once, Essik relaxes. He falls back against the bed, chest heaving. Caleb hollows his cheeks, cleaning off his cock as he pulls away. A trickle of come threatens to slide out of the corner of his mouth but he flicks it away with his tongue. He rolls the taste in his mouth, as bitter as he expected but with an aftertaste like burnt sugar.

Caleb stretches out on his side, fingers tracing slow circles on Essik’s chest. His mind flashes back to Trent’s voice, warning them to beware sleeping with the enemy. He swallows hard against the laughter bubbling in his throat.

“What’s this?” he asks instead, fingers lingering over the black lines that creep over Essik’s shoulder.

Essik shifts, baring the whole of the tattoo. It’s a complicated rune that Caleb doesn’t recognize, surrounded by spirals and circles. Caleb traces the edges of it until Essik falls back onto the bed. “It’s a mark,” he says, “of consecution.”

Questions brim at the tip of Caleb’s tongue but he knows that this isn’t the moment. He hasn’t earned the answers. “I should get back to my friends.” He traces the rocky edges of the starburst scar. “I don’t want them to think I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Can’t have that.” Essik doesn’t laugh. “I could stop time. You could stay as long as you like.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. “Could you?”

“Well…” Essik rolls his shoulders, half of his mouth tilting up in a smile. “Not for long.”

“If time isn’t passing, how do you know how long it lasts?”

“Asking the right questions,” Essik says, laughing, but he doesn’t answer.

“Would you like to come back with me?” Caleb feels strangely awkward, considering he just had this man’s cock in his mouth. “You could have dinner, see the tree.”

“Another time.” Essik’s head turns toward him and his smile feels like a promise. “I have some research to do.”

Caleb runs the flat of his palm down Essik’s stomach, feeling the twitch in his abs. “How do I get home? I’m here, and yet I still don’t know where you live.”

“I can send you home.” Essik sits up, muscles flexing. “If you insist.”

“You have _research_ ,” Caleb teases. He hauls himself off the bed and back into his clothes. Essik doesn’t bother to get dressed, barely even seems to notice that his robes are absent.

Essik leans over, leaving his bare ass in full view of Caleb. He takes advantage, eying it with appreciation. Maybe next time there will be more chances to try other things, to pick out what they both like.

Essik straightens, a satchel clutched in his fist. He draws the sigil, throws the silver dust, and the air begins to waver.

“When will you teach me that?” Caleb asks, wondering at the limitations, imagining the possibilities.

Essik shakes the bag at him. “You’ll need one handful of powdered silver for every cast.”

Caleb reaches out, preparing to step through. He hesitates, catching Essik by the wrist and dragging him into a kiss. It’s quick, little more than a brush of their lips, but it feels like more. When Caleb pulls away, Essik’s eyebrow is raised in surprise. “I’ll write you, when I have the silver,” he says, and steps through the rift.


End file.
